White Rose Black Forest(28)

“This is a rag,” she said. “This is a ridiculous rag.”

“This newspaper has a circulation of several hundred thousand. Hitler has spoken many times of its journalistic integrity.”

“I don’t know what to say. The system isn’t perfect, but . . .”

The words fell away. She had nothing.

“We didn’t raise you to turn your head away from injustice. We always taught you to—”

“Remember who I am.”

“Exactly. I think the reason you’ve taken to this regime so readily is that you’re eager to change the world, just like many children of your generation. But you have to realize what you’re subscribing to.”

“I don’t agree with the policies toward the Jews, but I’m sure the führer has a reasonable plan for them.”

“Reasonable? Is that what you call denying their citizenship? Have you heard of a place called Dachau, Franka?”

She shook her head.

“I hadn’t either. It’s a little market town, fifteen miles from Munich, not far from where your mother was born. I had a business meeting with a man from there last week. He told me of a camp the Nazis founded there.”

“What kind of camp?”

“A place that is a crime against the German people. The man I met with supplied some of the materials for the new buildings there, back in ’33, and has been back several times. The camp is the first front in the war that the Nazis are already waging against their own people. Dachau is where they house the political enemies of the system. Socialists, and communists, leaders from the unions the Nazis outlawed, pacifists, and some dissident clergymen and priests. There are thousands there, being worked and starved to death, guarded behind wire fences by SS men with death’s-head insignia on their helmets.”

“This can’t be. Does the führer know about this?” Franka felt the repulsion rising in her but still wondered what Daniel and the other group leaders would make of this.

“How could he not know? Herr Hitler makes every decision that the country is run by. He could abolish it any time he wants to. My guess is that there are many more camps coming.”

“Who is this man you met from Dachau? Why is he spreading these vicious lies?”

“They’re not lies. Open your eyes, Franka. See who you’re pledging your loyalty to.”

Franka closed her eyes. She felt as if her head were about to explode. Hot tears ran down her face as she stood up. “I can’t believe you’d spread these disgusting lies in front of Fredi, who can’t possibly see through them. We have a responsibility to him, Father. We have to be better than this.”

She stormed out of the kitchen and up to her room, the poison of doubt swirling inside her.

College was an extension of the Nazi propaganda system that had engulfed Franka and her friends in high school. Intellectuals were on the same level as Jews and merited the same treatment. Hundreds of professors across Germany were dismissed for being too liberal, or Jewish. Among them were some of the greatest scholars in the country, and several Nobel Prize winners. “Culture” became a dirty word. The universities were transformed into vessels for the Propaganda Ministry. There were no student activities save for the Nazi-sponsored rallies and pep talks declaring the greatness of the regime. Franka found that in her courses, with their focus on human physiology, she could avoid the minefield of classes such as Racial Hygiene and Folk and Race.

Franka left the League of German Girls. The other troop leaders questioned her decision, but she convinced them that she hadn’t the time anymore, with college and her brother to think about. It was true that she had a lot of work to do both at college and at home, but there was something else. She couldn’t stop thinking about the story of the camp in Dachau. It explained a lot. Where had Herr Rosenbaum, their neighbor from down the street, gone? Where were Herr Schwarz and his family, and her old teacher Herr Stiegel? They had been taken away for questioning by the Gestapo. They had never returned, and no one seemed to care. Franka knew that even mentioning their names could get her thrown in jail, so she kept the questions and the maelstrom of doubt to herself. She could trust her father, but no one else—least of all Daniel.

Daniel’s devotion to the cause turned to obsession under the tutelage of his professors in law school. The Gestapo was a police force first and foremost—with the same entry paths, pay scales, and lengths of service that had always been in place—but the police force, like almost everything else, was unrecognizable now. Daniel reveled in his immersion in Nazi teachings. It became harder and harder to be around him. He spoke of enemies everywhere, of the communists and the Jews. No one was beyond the scope of his suspicion. The hatred that drove Daniel left him bereft of joy. He became impossible to love, and the feelings she once had for him crumbled and died. It was February 1936, and Franka was coming from dinner with Daniel. He had insisted on paying—as he always did, only adding to her feelings of guilt about what she had to do.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he began.

“I’ve a lot on my mind.”

“What is it? Your mother? Or is it your brother again?”

“It’s us, Daniel.” A look of surprise she wasn’t used to seeing came over his face, but he didn’t say anything. “I think we’ve grown in different ways. We’re taking different paths in life.”